“I’m sorry,” she said heavily. “If I thought there was even the slightest chance, I’d ask…but it’s no use. She’d never agree.”
“So that’s it?” Paul demanded. “You go back to the Oak, I stay here—and we both die?”
She looked away, unable to bear the anguish in his gaze. “I don’t see that we have any other choice.” Unless the Queen is wrong. But that seemed too much to hope.
“And when you tell your Queen you didn’t obey her orders?”
Knife spread her wings and rose into the air. “I’ll be all right,” she lied, and darted forward to brush her lips against his cheek. “Good-bye, Paul—”
And before he could reach out to her, she was gone.
Never had the journey from the House to the Oak seemed so long. A crow circled overhead, its wings carving black slices from the moon. From the other side of the box hedge came a rustle and a shriek, as a stoat undulated through the grass with a struggling mouse in its jaws. Even the air currents felt treacherous, ready to toss Knife skyward or dash her to the ground the moment her concentration faltered. It took all her strength to make it across the lawn, and by the time she had struggled her way up into the topmost branches of the Oak she felt almost painfully alert, as though her nerves were crawling through her skin.
Even so, she was not prepared for the shadow that dropped down from above, seizing her about the waist and clamping a hand over her mouth. Wings whirred into motion, and before she could even find voice to shout she was yanked backward into the air, plummeting through thirty crow-lengths of leaves and branches to land winded at the foot of the Oak.
“I did it,” said a voice in tones of astonished pride, and then as an afterthought, “Ouch.”
Knife whirled around to see Thorn standing behind her, massaging her shoulder and wincing. “What do you think you’re—” she began hotly, but the other faery cut her off. “I’ve already spent half the night out here, waiting for you to stop squawking at that human of yours and get back to the Oak. You’re not going back to the Queen without hearing what I have to say first.”
“You followed me to the House?” asked Knife, incredulous.
“Well, I had to know if you were going to kill him or not, didn’t I?”
Knife put a hand to her forehead. “Wait. How do you know about all this—any of this? I haven’t seen you since I left Campion’s room.”
“You didn’t see me, no,” said Thorn with grim satisfaction. “But I was listening outside the Queen’s window the whole time the two of you were talking. I didn’t catch all of it, but I heard enough.” She eyed Knife’s faded wings disapprovingly. “So that’s what she was talking about, when she said she’d have to restore your wings. Did you really use up all your magic on that human? Of all the gnat-witted things to do—”
“I love you, too, Thorn,” said Knife, and as the other faery spluttered she went on more seriously: “But you have something to tell me, you said. What is it?”
“Campion’s getting better,” said Thorn, her voice still a little strangled. “Valerian and I weren’t sure at first, but when she sat up and asked for something to eat—we knew.”
Knife went still, feeling her heartbeat pound through her whole body. This was it: proof that despite all Jasmine’s efforts and the Queen’s fears, the Oakenfolk still needed knowledge of the human world to survive. Tragic though it was, Heather’s story had spoken to Campion, awakening her mind and reviving her spirits, in a way that all her knowledge of the faery lore had not.
And that meant…
“I have something to bargain with,” Knife whispered.
“To get your wings back? I hope so,” said Thorn. “Believe me, I’m in no hurry to be Queen’s Hunter again, but the way you’ve been floundering about is a disgrace: It’s a wonder Old Wormwood hasn’t eaten you already.”
Knife’s mind flashed back to the crow’s body, lying stiff and lifeless by the road. She had been so distracted with other things, she had forgotten to share the news. “Old Wormwood is dead. The humans—” Then she stopped short, her breath catching in her throat.
“What?” asked Thorn.
Knife seized her by the shoulders. “Thorn, I need you to do something for me right away, while I go and talk to the Queen. You won’t like it, but I swear to you, it’s important.”
“Enough,” said Thorn irritably. “Just tell me what you want.”
Knife told her.
Thorn’s face went so white that even her lips turned pale. But then she drew herself up and said stiffly, “All right.”
“Thorn, I can’t tell you how grateful—”
“Oh, none of that,” said Thorn, with a snort that sounded suspiciously like a sniff. “Now stop blathering and get up there. The Queen’s waiting.”
“I had almost lost hope of your return,” said Amaryllis. “What kept you so long?”
Knife folded herself through the window and dropped to the floor, dusting off her hands. “My apologies, Your Majesty,” she said. “It took longer than I had expected.”
“It is done, then,” said the Queen, and then to Knife’s surprise she sighed, and put a hand to her eyes. “I could almost wish that you had passed the test,” she continued, almost too softly for Knife to hear. “But it is better so.”
“Test?” said Knife. “If you mean killing Paul—”
“He will not die,” Amaryllis told her. “If he sleeps, it is only to awake refreshed tomorrow. But in your heart you will know that you meant to kill him, and the shame of that betrayal will taint every thought of him hereafter.” Knife stared at her aghast as she went on. “Did I not warn you that your friendship with this young human had no future? Now you have proven it for yourself.”
“Wait,” said Knife. “What if I didn’t try to kill him?”
“If the bond between you was true,” said Amaryllis impatiently, “no threat or persuasion could have made you do him harm. Yet when you took the potion from my hand, I knew that what I had long feared had come to pass, and my people were no longer capable of love.”
“Not capable—” Knife’s outrage left her speechless. But the Queen had already turned away.
“I do not blame you for the choice you made,” she said, her gaze on the window and the rising moon. “You had no power to do otherwise. Ever since the Sundering cut us off from the human world, our people have grown more shallow in their affections, more petty and self-serving. Though I have done what I could to encourage kindness and to reward those few who appeared to possess it, I knew all along that such efforts were in vain. The evil Jasmine did has poisoned the Oak to its very root.”
“No,” said Knife. “You’re wrong. Do you really think that just because we can’t go back to the way we used to be, that proves we can never be any better than we are? Besides, you weren’t listening when I told you—I didn’t do it.”
The Queen gave her a sharp look. “Are you telling me that you failed in your mission? That you were unable to carry out my command?”
“I had the opportunity,” said Knife, defiant. “I chose not to.”
“I warned you that you would die if you did not obey—that only by doing this could you win back your wings and ensure your future as my Hunter. You believed, yet you still held back?” Amaryllis leaned heavily on the table, her face haggard with disbelief. “How can this be?”
All at once Knife understood, and the icy dread inside her dissolved in a hot rush of anger. “You mean that what you said would happen to me, and Paul, was just a test—you lied?”
But the Queen did not seem to hear. She went on distractedly: “A true bond. So much better than I dreamed possible…and yet so much worse. Has it come to this? And yet what choice do I have left?”
She straightened as she spoke, and Knife stepped back, wary—but too late. Already Amaryllis was reaching out to her, fingers kindling with power even as her red-rimmed eyes silently pleaded forgiveness for it. “You are the only hope I have of saving our people,” she said, �
�yet I cannot trust you so long as your heart is divided. If you cannot forsake this human, Knife…then I must make you forget him.”
“Wait!” shouted Knife, flinging both arms in front of her face in a futile attempt to shield herself. “You haven’t heard—I have to tell you—”
A rushing noise filled her ears, and her thoughts swirled and bled as a ruthless brush swept across the canvas of her mind. Knife staggered backward, cracked her head against the wall and slid to the floor, stunned. The tide of the Queen’s magic surged over her, and the image of Paul’s face in her memory began to crumble and wash away….
Suddenly her mind snapped like a bowstring, and she felt the spell fly away from her, arrow-clean. The Queen cried out and gripped her head in her hands. “You resisted my spell,” she gasped. “How?”
“The same way Heather resisted Jasmine,” Knife replied, struggling to her feet. “You can’t make me forget Paul, any more than she could forget Philip—because I gave him my name.”
“And it is well that she did,” came an unexpected voice, “or else Your Majesty would have done a great evil, and all in vain.”
They both looked around to see Valerian standing in the doorway, with Wink and a sleepy Linden by her side. Then another shuffled out of the shadows to join them—Campion.
The Queen drew herself up. “What trickery is this?” she said.
“No trickery at all,” said Valerian, helping Campion into a chair. “You were told she was dying of the Silence, and rightly so; but thanks to Knife, she is dying no longer.” She walked toward the Queen, her stern expression softening. “You are weary,” she said, “for you have borne a great burden for many years alone. But to allow despair to lead you into the same path Jasmine took—this is folly, and it does not become you.”
“And besides,” said Wink, pale and earnest, “if you make Knife forget, then you’ll have to make the rest of us forget, too. I was the one who gave her Heather’s diaries in the first place, so it’s my fault she read them, and Knife wanting to be with Paul is my fault, too, because I let them meet each other when they were little, and—oh, please don’t hurt her anymore. If you have to punish someone, please—” She looked at Knife, and her eyes filled up. “Punish me instead.”
Knife moved forward and put her arm around Wink’s shoulders. “And you say our people know nothing of love?” she said to Amaryllis. “I don’t blame you for thinking me selfish, but Wink deserves more credit than that.” She looked down at the Seamstress’s bent red head and added softly, “She always has.”
The Queen regarded them with amazement. “I underestimated you,” she said at last. “All of you, it would seem. Nevertheless—” She broke off as the shutters rattled and Thorn thumped onto the windowsill, her hair windblown and her cheeks red.
“I’ve done it,” she panted at Knife. “He’s coming.”
Quickly Knife stepped forward, unclasping the ruby pendant from her neck and pressing it into Amaryllis’s hand. “I’m asking you this favor,” she said. “Come out to the garden with me now, and listen to what Paul and I have to say.”
The Queen’s fingers closed about the stone. “This is madness,” she said. “What use are words now, with the future of the Oak in jeopardy?” But then she caught Valerian’s eye, and color tinged her cheeks as she went on, “Yet it is true that I have wronged you, and that you have a right to ask. Very well.”
If Paul was glad to see Knife again, he did not show it. “I just want you to know,” he said as he wheeled across the lawn to meet her, “that if I lose my mind, it won’t be because you left me; it’ll be because you kept leaving and then coming back again. Although sending that other faery to fetch me was an interesting twist—” His gaze fell to Amaryllis, waiting imperiously at the end of the path. “Is that who I think it is?”
It seemed Thorn hadn’t told him what was happening, only that he needed to come out to the garden at once. No wonder he didn’t look happy; he had no idea what to expect from this meeting, any more than Amaryllis did.
“Yes,” Knife told him, then raised her voice and addressed the Queen: “Your Majesty, we both know the dangers that our people face, and the need for a strong Hunter to protect them. I also understand how important it could be for us to find other faeries if we want our magic back—but I believe that preventing the Silence from killing our people is even more important. Don’t you agree?”
“Agreed,” said Amaryllis, but she folded her arms as she spoke. “Go on.”
“But Paul and I also need each other,” Knife continued, “and the Oakenfolk need help that only the humans can give. You saw Campion just now: Valerian said I cured her, but it wasn’t really me. It was Heather’s story that brought her back, because it told her things she’d never heard before—new ideas, new knowledge. But those diaries won’t necessarily help everyone, and even if they did they might not be enough. We have to find more new ideas, of all kinds, to keep the rest of us from sinking into despair as Campion did.”
“So what you need,” said Paul, his eyes lighting as he began to catch on, “is a go-between—someone with a connection to both worlds, who can take the knowledge my people have and bring it to yours.”
“Yes,” said Knife, “but even more than that. Someone who can also protect the Oak from harm, and our people from predators, and make the Oakenwyld safe again. As a faery I’ve done my best, but now I know that I could do it even better…as a human.”
Amaryllis’s lips parted, incredulous. “A human Queen’s Hunter?”
“Why not?” demanded Paul. “Knife’s right—we humans can kill crows, or frighten them away, far more easily than you can. And she wouldn’t have to stop hunting food for you, either; she could snare rabbits, gather plants, even bring you things from the House. And I can help your people, too. If there’s anything you want or need—metal, cloth, paper—I’ll get it for you. I’ll even give tours of the House when my parents are out and serve you all tea and biscuits, if that’s what you want.” His mouth twitched. “But I won’t tell anyone else about you, or do anything to threaten your safety. I’ll swear that in blood if you like.”
The Queen was silent, her head bent. Then she said, “I must speak with Knife about this. Alone.”
“What is it?” asked Knife, following Amaryllis to the foot of the Oak. She glanced back over her shoulder to where Paul sat in the middle of the lawn, tense and waiting. “Don’t tell me you plan to refuse?”
“I do not,” said Amaryllis shortly, turning to face her. “But I cannot accept this offer unless I am satisfied that you, and he, are fully aware of what you are asking. I would not have it said that I made you a false bargain.”
“I know what I’m doing,” said Knife, impatient. “We both do. We’re wasting time—”
“Then do me the courtesy of not interrupting when I speak!” Amaryllis snapped back. Knife reddened, and the Queen went on: “If I make you human, Knife, it will be no easy task. It will require of me all the magic I took from Jasmine, and some of my own as well—power that I can ill afford to spare. If you should regret your decision, I will not be able to help you. You will be trapped as a human forever. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” said Knife.
“You will give up your wings, your ageless body, your magical heritage. The Oak will be closed to you, and you will have no one in all the world but Paul, no home that he does not give you. If there is any magical power to the bond between you, it will dissolve, leaving you no guarantee that he will not tire of you and cast you away. Yet as long as the Oakenfolk have need of you, you cannot leave this place, but must live here always.” She laid a hand on Knife’s arm. “Do not think of this choice as an escape, Knife. If you believe that becoming human will give you more freedom than the Oak can offer, I fear you will be disappointed.”
“I used to think I knew what freedom was,” said Knife. “To do whatever I pleased, go wherever I chose, and not have to depend on anyone. But now…” She lifted her head, resolute. “I k
now this won’t be easy. But I still want to do it.”
“I see,” said Amaryllis, and took her hand away. “So for yourself, this is what you would choose. But what of Paul? If you become human, your power to inspire him will weaken, if not vanish entirely; he may never achieve his full potential as an artist. And though he cares for you now, there are countless young women in the world; would he still want you if he knew he could claim a far more valuable prize?”
“I don’t—” began Knife, but the Queen cut her off.
“Think, Knife. Have you not realized that if I restored your wings, you might still serve both Paul and the Oak as a faery, while the same power that would have made you human could be used for another purpose?”
Knife felt as though a fist had driven into her stomach. “You mean you could—”
“I could, and will if you choose it. He is a worthy human, and such a debt would bind him to the Oak even more surely than his loyalty to you. Why should I not give him what he himself once told you was his dearest wish?”
“Then—” She closed her eyes, and spoke quickly before she could change her mind. “Yes.”
“You want me to heal him?”
“Yes.”
“Remember, Knife, that the other terms of the bargain still stand. Not only must you continue as my Hunter, but you must also see Paul, and speak with him, on my behalf—even though your feelings for him can never again be expressed, or returned. You will remain a faery, and he a human, forever. Are you willing to endure this, for his sake?”
Knife nodded, too full of grief to speak.
“Very well,” said the Queen with satisfaction. “You have chosen wisely, Knife. Now remain here, while I speak to the human.”
Knife sat at the foot of the Oak, chin resting on pulled-up knees. Though Paul and Amaryllis were too far away for her to make out their words, she could still hear the Queen’s treble rising above Paul’s husky baritone; they appeared to be talking on top of each other, and at this rate the sun would come up before either of them finished a sentence. But then Paul broke off and cast a stricken glance at her.
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